Closer
by EOlivet
Summary: Matthew is wet and Mary is untidy. The very first instance of "Come and kiss me," pre-3x01.


Disclaimer: The characters described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: Pre-3x01.

A/N: I intended to write this fic after 3x01, but somehow couldn't make it work. Then I was asked about it several weeks ago, and Mary sitting on Matthew's lap again in 3x07 felt like a sign. So, this is for you, Chickwriter – after these past couple weeks, consider it my form of fandom aid.

* * *

He shifted slightly on the settee, gazing across the vast distance that seemed to separate them. His trousers still clung to his skin – his shirt sodden, his jacket surely ruined. Even his hair was a bit damp.

Indeed, Matthew had been through quite a storm to get here – in many senses. The motor had broken down halfway to the big house, and he was forced to walk the rest of the way in the pouring rain, despite Pratt's vigorous protests to the contrary.

But it had been worth it. Worth every waterlogged step, worth the horrified expression on Carson's face when the man had opened the door, even worth the blind panic of the servants when they realized the motor was stuck somewhere between Crawley House and the Abbey.

In addition, it was most definitely worth Mary's confused, questioning look when he realized she was the only one of the family who'd not yet gone upstairs…

No, he couldn't possibly be sorry when he could glance across the settee at Mary, whose eyes were fixed on her now-adorned left hand.

Matthew now watched as she gazed down at the modest diamond ring in the slightly higher, more modern setting. Simpler than the last ring he'd bought, smaller than the last ring she'd worn.

Different. Somehow, he thought that especially fitting.

He'd watched her peel off one long glove with a care and delicacy that seemed to evoke a more intimate act, and her hand had been warm in his as he'd slid the ring on her finger. Yet before he could discover if her lips would be as warm as her hand, several raised voices outside the drawing room had forced him and Mary to retreat to opposite sides of the settee.

But now the voices had died down, and his gaze alighted once more on her bare hand, which seemed to be dimly illuminated by the shards of light rising from it. He found his own hand flexing involuntarily at his side – as if the phantom action could bring it into contact with hers.

"You're too far away," he lamented. His smile was more insistent, imbued with a touch of pleading, as his longing eyes found hers.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't move.

His hand slid along the fabric of the cushion almost halfway between them, as if to indicate the place where he desired her to be.

Dipping her head, she appeared to glance briefly at her ring as if it could somehow grant permission, then with a brief look at the door, she maneuvered herself over to just shy of where his hand was resting.

He swallowed, as he seemed to absorb the warmth of her proximity through his fingertips, coursing through all areas of his body.

Keeping his eyes on hers, his smile grew sweeter as his voice lowered. "Closer…" he softly commanded, inching his hand further back towards where he was sat.

That same teasing eyebrow taunted him for only a moment before he heard her sigh, and saw her body shift – slicing the distance between them in half once again.

The ring seemed to wink at him in the dim light, as he caught a glimpse of her bare hand resting upon the dark fabric of her dress. He felt an uncomfortable dampness permeating his clothing – rain now mixing with sweat to coat his heated skin. Then there were the all too common ailments of her presence – parched lips, a dry throat, a quickened heartbeat – though he didn't think he had ever felt them so acutely before.

"Closer…" he choked out, daring to move his hand so his fingertips grazed the back of her dress, as if he meant to draw her into an embrace.

She kept her eyes on his, and he saw her swallow, saw her cheeks flush and he wondered if her heart was beating quite so fast or her breath was quite so rapid.

Mary lifted her gloved hand, and he watched in shocked fascination as she proceeded to pull off her other glove in that same gentle, torturously sensual way – taking great pains to peel back the cloth to reveal inch by inch of soft, secret skin.

Then this newly naked hand reached up to his hair, brushing a still wet lock of it off his forehead. "Better?" she murmured.

His mouth had fallen open slightly at the lowness of her voice. She was practically whispering to him in the dark – innocently, of course, but with the barest hint of promise behind it.

Without thinking, he captured her other hand in his – her fingers as warm as he remembered. Silently, his thumb played against the band around her finger and over the stone of her ring. It was sharp and cold compared to her warm, soft hand and he began to wonder if her lips might be even warmer and softer…

His eyes gently closed as he closed the final distance between them and kissed her. Pulling back, his lips then found hers once more, and after a moment, he let their joined hands fall into her lap.

He tilted his head to kiss her once more, her lips parting at the renewed contact. Her fingers had lighted on the back of his neck, and he sighed into her mouth. Then his grip on her hand had shifted, so his knuckles were brushing against her knee...

Suddenly, the handle of the drawing room door began to turn.

She quickly pulled away from him, as he practically threw himself in the opposite direction, stumbling into the chair closest to the settee. Indeed, the last thing they needed were any more stories about them (or worse, about Mary) before they were married – else they might never be allowed alone together again.

Moments later, he was sat in the chair, chin propped up on his elbow, and Mary remained on the settee, back straight, clutching her gloves in her lap. Together, they presented quite a convincing picture of innocence.

But when nobody entered the room for several minutes, he found his gaze wandering back to Mary. Her eyes flicked toward his, and they shared an amused glance – which somehow seemed to fade very quickly…

Though he really had no way to embrace her from his current position, he still reached out his hand toward her, and after a moment, she placed her hand in his.

His breath drew in sharply at the way her…chest rose and fell. Swallowing hard, he found himself _watching_ exactly how she breathed. Desperately, he attempted to quell the urge to feel his hands and lips upon her skin. Yet, the tightness of the fabric outlining her chest above her waist only encouraged the tightness and outline of the fabric below his.

He could see her leaning forward, so they could grasp each other's hands with minimal discomfort. She was almost pitched halfway off the settee now, and with a breath, he leaned closer to her, and took her other hand in his.

This allowed her to stand fully, with him still sat in the chair. When she gave him a questioning gaze, he held her stare and merely repeated, "Closer..."

After several long moments, she perched herself delicately upon his knees with a slow smile that perhaps held a hint of mischief. He let out a barely audible breath over the roaring in his ears, and his hands twitched in her grip – wanting to pull her down where he could reach her mouth once more…

However, that appeared to be impossible when she extricated her fingers from his grasp and with an inscrutable expression, placed her hands on either side of his face. At first, he strained to reach her lips, but it was clear she meant to hold him in that position.

Her lips twitched, her brow furrowing to seem almost wistful as she tentatively began to explore his damp hair with her fingers.

His eyes closed involuntarily at the feel of her nails gently dragging across his scalp, sweeping down to his temple, and over his forehead. When he opened his eyes briefly, he saw her cheeks were flushed, her breathing rapid, her mouth falling open slightly at certain intervals, as if…

As if the action was somehow…arousing.

He allowed his hand to rest lightly around her waist, while his other curled gently around her knee. Lightly, he stroked the material of her dress, and his eyes shut once more – imagining the heat of her skin beneath those folds of fabric.

His fingers on her waist twitched and finally…daringly began to make small circles along her side, and when he wondered at what was just out of reach to the north and south of his hand, he only hoped she wouldn't notice the fabric of his trousers constricting further.

It was becoming quite difficult to breathe without kissing her, but she seemed almost in a trance with her fingers buried in his hair, her head tilted back, her parted lips revealing a glimpse of her mouth, and her tongue that he so longed to taste.

The hand round her waist began to pull her closer, shifting his weight so as not to startle her. She was almost close enough to kiss now, but still, she seemed to be holding back.

"Come here…" he pleaded softly.

"I _am_ here." She raised her eyebrows with a bit of a smirk.

Dipping his head, he chuckled briefly at her ability to tease, even at a time like this. "Then kiss me..." It was half a command, half a question. In truth, he had no idea how she'd react to this kind of directive.

She looked as if she was considering this a moment, then slyly leaned in and placed a brief, lingering kiss to the right of his mouth.

Trying his best not to pout, he replied, "That's not—"

But her lips soon smothered his words, the warmth of her breath and their voices intermingling in soft sighs and gasps as their mouths fused together again and again. His head tilted to kiss her ever more deeply, as her fingers flexed into his hair once more.

He moved his hand from her knee up to caress the side of her face, his fingers dipping into her hair as his tongue dipped into her mouth.

Pulling away, she gave him a look that wasn't quite reproachful, as her hands traveled down over his shoulders. "You're…wet," she exclaimed quietly, at the touch of his rain-soaked jacket.

"Not yet," he smirked back at her, his eyes briefly traveling southward to where her hip rested near his stomach.

"Matthew!" Her eyes grew slightly larger. "You'll make me blush," she warned him in a low voice, her fingers trailing up his temple.

"Good." Before she could speak further, he'd claimed her lips again, and she wrapped her arms round his neck. One of his hands settled on her back, turning her more fully toward him and causing her to slide further into his lap.

She gasped as she moved over him, even with layers of fabric separating them, but continued to kiss him eagerly. Both his hands were splayed on her back now, while hers entangled into his hair, and his mouth trailed to her chin and her jaw and after a moment of hesitation, her neck.

"Ah—" Her grip on his head tightened – encouraging him as he laved at her skin. One of her hands wandered to the lapel of his jacket, dipping her hand in to skim along his shirt and over his chest.

He groaned against her neck, fantasizing about how her touch might feel without fabric to encumber them. How everything might feel without fabric to encumber them, and he was soon kissing her mouth again, his hands exploring her hair now – wondering at the pins holding it in place and wanting her to remove them, one by one…

Then with a final, reluctant, searching kiss, he pulled away – fearing his discomfort would be nothing compared to hers if things continued to progress for too much longer.

Still breathing heavily, he opened his eyes and took in her slightly mussed hair, the wrinkled fabric of her dress, her lips glistening from where they'd met his.

"Oh dear, I've made you untidy." He sounded sorrier than he actually was – and made a cursory effort to at least smooth her hair behind her ear.

One eyebrow raised in an almost taunting fashion. "Not yet," she replied, with a smirk of her own, and a brief, fervent kiss that gave her the last word on the subject.

She rose from his lap, smoothing out her dress as she walked back to the settee and picked up her gloves.

"Do you think they forgot about us?" he asked, glancing at the door.

Mary gave him a look. "More likely they were afraid of what they might discover if they pushed in." Sighing, she slid her right hand into a glove, sheathing her fingers, wrist and arm in black fabric. "I suppose we should see what's keeping them."

Again, her ring caught the dim light, and when he was quite certain he could stand without embarrassing either of them, he caught her bare hand in his once more.

For a moment, he just looked at her – eyes shining, the flush beginning to recede from her cheeks, her breathing almost returning to normal. It was his heart that felt pleasantly tight within his chest now.

"My darling…" he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips.

Her eyes widened at the unfamiliar endearment, as her chest seemed to constrict, and a beatific look of affection broke through the haze of lust that had seemingly surrounded them since they'd been left alone.

Dropping his hand, she pulled on her second glove, the sparkle disappearing into the fabric as it stretched over her hand.

"Say that again." Her words were directed more to her glove than to him.

"My darling… he affirmed, and was rewarded with another soft, lingering kiss.

He stroked the side of her face as she pulled away. "…Kiss me again," he entreated, grasping her hand - his smile now flattening into a smirk.

She gave him a look, then leaned in very closely to his mouth…and kissed the side of it, sweetly whispering, "Next time…"

Then with a triumphant arch of her eyebrows, she walked to the door – leaving him to stare almost open-mouthed in her wake.

_Next time_, he thought with a grin, as he followed her.

The End.


End file.
